Covenant
by xXxWinglessAngelxXx
Summary: In place for over a thouand years, the Bond is the contract signed by both the Devil and God, stating that in their struggle for power over the Middleplane, their Underlings - Angels and Demons - must be kept away form the mortals. But, when the Bond was broken five hundred years ago, the Middleplane fell in chaos. Now, there is only one who can save it.
1. Prologue

**Vocabulary:**

**Middleplane: Earth. The Mediator between Heaven and Hell, inhabited by humans, animals and the like.**

**Overworlds: The two Overworlds are Heaven and Hell, the two supernatural realms that hold all-powerful beings.**

**Underlings: The workers or servants for the Devil and God: Angels and Demons. Confined by the Bond to their realms.**

**Overseers: The head on charge of each supernatural realm. I.e., the Devil is the Overseer of Hell, God is the Overseer of Heaven. All Underlings are under their control.**

**The Sight: Gifted to very few in all history, the Sight is the ability to see and kill both Angels and Demons of all kinds.**

* * *

Nighttime is – and has always been – a demon's favorite time of day. Maybe it is the dangerous vibe, maybe it is the lack of light, but either way they seemed to favor it more than anything. Really, the demons shouldn't even have a preference, because they shouldn't be on the Middleplane in the first place. A promise, made long ago, states that if the demons stay in hell, the angels will stay in heaven.

But promises are meant to be broken.

Influence over the Middleplane is supposed to be non-contact only, through thoughts, dreams and wishes. A battle of willpower, excreted from the two separate Overseers of the Overworlds.

That was the promise – the contract.

The contract that had in place for over a thousand years, broken five hundred years ago. They called it the Bond, an indestructible compromise that both Overworlds had to follow. The Bond was simple, merely two line stating the expectations of both sides:

"_Through the willpower of both Overworlds, this Bond hereby decrees that all Underlings must be kept in their respective states. The influence over the Middleplane shall be purely non-contact, for both Underlings and Overseers."_

So it was said, so it was written, so it shall be. It has been tirelessly argued that the angel's Overworld should have more power, more rights and liberties – resultantly angering the demons more and more. Eventually, weary of this endless argument, the demons finally decided that they had had quite enough of the angels constant whining and quarrelling.

It didn't take much for the demons to break through the barrier protecting their Overworld – more or less to keep something in than to keep something out. They now swarm the Middleplane at their leisure, their influence over the mortals stronger and fiercer than the angel's.

Despite the Bond being broken, the angels refuse to leave their Overworld unless it is absolutely necessary, even though the odds have now been tipped in favor of the demons. They remain the pure, uncontaminated essence and stimulus for the Middleplane, never faltering nor wavering in their absolute goal – to achieve full influence over the Middleplane.

Many half-breeds and Seers on the Middleplane have tried and failed to stop the demon's constant flood of havoc, to bring the Bond back into effect. They have all perished in the effort.

There is one, however, who still remains, who is capable to stop the demons – no questions asked. This burden has been placed on her shoulders since a young age, though all her life she has denied the responsibility, refusing to accept the fact that it is her obligation to save her world from certain death.

Birthed with an unusual, sacred power – the Sight – this one mortal alone can save the entire Middleplane with insulting ease.

* * *

**Well, here we go on yet another new adventure - the product of my over-active imagination and a particularily boring day.**

**I was inspired by both the Hush, Hush series and the movie Constantine.**

**I love the idea of Angels and Demons, and creating a new world in which they exist.**

**Drop me a review!**

**~xoxo WinglessAngel**


	2. The Shade

**Vocabulary:**

**Middleplane: Earth. The Mediator between Heaven and Hell, inhabited by humans, animals and the like.**

**Overworlds: The two Overworlds are Heaven and Hell, the two supernatural realms that hold all-powerful beings.**

**Underlings: The workers or servants for the Devil and God: Angels and Demons. Confined by the Bond to their realms.**

**Overseers: The head on charge of each supernatural realm. I.e., the Devil is the Overseer of Hell, God is the Overseer of Heaven. All Underlings are under their control.**

**The Sight: Gifted to very few in all history, the Sight is the ability to see and kill both Angels and Demons of all kinds.**

**Characters For This Chapter:**

**Naomi: 17 years**

**Guardian Angel Rusty: 19 years**

* * *

It was the second official day of winter and it still hadn't snowed.

Oh, sure, the temperature had dropped; the grass and undergrowth had been dusted with frost, but not one single snowflake had fallen from the impenetrable blue above.

This had made Rusty rather upset.

Soft, gray tendrils of fog curled around his feet as he hastened through the close-growing trees, the tail of his coat swirling about the grasses below him. His blue eyes darted, sharp and wary, around the mist-filled forest, seemingly looking for danger.

Really, he had nothing to fear in the Shade – even at this deadly time of night. But given that this was _Rusty_ – paranoia extraordinaire – it wasn't surprising that he was a bit jumpy. Up to its neck in ghost stories and rumours, the Shade was a large, evergreen and maple forest that ringed the elusive town of Treusdale, Manitoba, and was given a wide berth by really anyone, even the town's own residents.

It was also the perfect place for a secret meeting.

In truth, Rusty wasn't even sure that there was going to _be_ a meeting. The person he was supposed to meet was about as hard to find as a shadow. She lived anywhere she wanted – she had been in Venice, Athens, Paris, Los Angeles, Phoenix, even San Diego. It had taken him a full 7 months to track down her current location – Niverville, Manitoba – and he was hell-bent on speaking with her.

The Shade was the perfect place for Rusty to meet with her, being secluded and disclosed from all over population – at least so far it had been – and he was hoping that that would be enough to bring her out of hiding.

He didn't know anything about her, and though that was one of the reasons he wanted to meet her, his main motive to convene with her was that he had been assigned to make her accept her responsibility to the Middleplane.

That was going to be hard considering he didn't even know her name.

He hesitated once he reached the very edge of a grassy clearing, where the trees started to thin and – much to Rusty's relief – so did the fog. His hesitation, however, was derivative of the thick black smoke that was writhing on the other side of the vindicating area of trees.

Thicker than the haze that shrouded the rest of the forest, this miasma was a deep cinereous and atrous, and it sent a shiver of foreboding down Rusty's spine.

But, at the same time, he knew that if he wanted to achieve his goal, he would probably have to approach said smoke. Taking one hesitant step at a time, he slowly drew closer to cloak of darkness across from him. He wanted to say something, to call out, but at the same time was afraid to; scared that if he did, the evil that was lurking in the gloom would reveal itself. Or rather, herself.

His footsteps made no noise on the ground as he slowly approached the smoke on the other side of the clearing, his breathing getting quicker with every step he took. As he knew, he had nothing to fear in the Shade, because there was nothing there that could possibly hope to cause him harm. Nothing that was normally there, anyway.

But this girl wasn't normally there. This legend, this supposed living myth, wasn't a usual inhabitant of the Shade. And he could almost guarantee that she could kill him if she wanted.

Finally, Rusty found his voice – dying somewhere in his throat – and managed to choke out,

"H-hello?" At first, nothing happened, and all he could hear was his own words bouncing back to him. Then, all of a sudden, the area around the cloud of smoke's middle shifted drastically, clearing a hole in the middle almost as if there had been a great wind gusting through the haze. And yet Rusty had felt nothing.

He swallowed thickly, trying to push down the lump that had formed in the base of his throat. He had heard – from scores of different people – that this girl had an occupational habit of scaring all those she came into contact with. He had immediately assumed, as soon as he had reached the clearing, that that was exactly what the smoke was there for.

Slowly, Rusty realized that all around him he could hear a low, ominous rumbling sound. It sounded somewhat like the growl of a lion, amplified tenfold and projected straight toward him from the haze that seemed to be…slowly moving forward…

He had to force down a cry of shock as he stumbled backwards, his feet catching on one another in his desperate haste to get away from the shifting vapour. _It's all a trick,_ he repeated in his mind – over and over. _All a trick…all a trick…_

Just as soon as the words crossed his mind, the smoke disappeared. Just like that. He blinked, and when he opened his eyes again, it was gone. All of it. Every last wisp of mist that had previously been filling the clearing was gone. And Rusty didn't know why or how. Nor was he willing to stay long enough to find out.

He whirled around and made to bolt out of the clearing, but just as he did realized that the tail of his trench coat was caught on a low-hanging branch, preventing him from moving any further. Fear and panic flooded through him, setting his nerves on fire and making his heart pound against his ribcage – enough that he could feel it in his fingertips.

As he was pulling frantically on his jacket, trying to dislodge himself, he realized that both the rumbling and the initial force that caused his fear were gone. He slowly calmed and stared around himself, frowning at the skeletal trees and frost-covered grasses that made up the Shade.

After a few moments of looking around, Rusty finally realized that across the clearing, standing by a huge, dying maple tree, was a dark, wispy silhouette. He tensed up, his shoulders drawing up against his ears – he was expecting the worst from this supposed legend he was to meet with, maybe even something from one of the many nightmares that plagued his unconscious mind. He could hear and physically feel his breathing speed up, as he clenched his hands around the tail of his jacket, his knuckles going a pinkish-white.

He couldn't run. Not now. Not after all the pain-staking measures he had gone through to find this place, to set this meeting. He had to stay, had to get the answers he had come here to find, had to find out exactly what game this legendary savoir was playing.

Steeling himself, Rusty let go of his jacket – letting it hang awkwardly between himself and the tree's branch – and faced the figure completely, narrowing his icy blue eyes at the silhouette.

"I know that's you." No words came back to answer his bold statement. He knew that he may very well be the only one to ever dare speak to this supposed myth in such a brusque and abrupt tone – and that could come with awful repercussions.

After at least a minute of silence had passed, Rusty started to feel anxious for this other person to answer him. He wasn't really in the mood for games. His palms started to sweat, his knuckles aching with the intensity that clenching his fists brought. Despite his nervousness, he continued to glare at the figure – if nothing else worked, maybe he could stare them into giving up, he thought sarcastically.

"So you're Rusty." The words were so sudden that they caused him to jump. His eyes widened as he finally heard this mystery person speak. Well, at least now he knew that she was female. Her voice was high and sharp – an evident marks of a young someone with intelligence above average.

"Y-yes, I am." He mentally kicked himself for letting even the slightest bit of fear show in his wavering voice. Knocking the stutter out of his words, he tried again, "Yes. I'm Guardian Angel Rusty. I was sent here to…to…" He trailed off, a frown etching onto his young face as he realized that the mystery silhouette wasn't there anymore. He looked around him, but could find absolutely no trace of her.

Frustration shot through his nerves, making him clench his fists again, though for a different reason this time. A nearly inaudible growl escaped his throat. He had come all this way, for nothing? For her to just leave?

No.

He would find her again, and he would make sure his task was completed, even if it was the last thing he ever did. And, with all his power bestowed upon him by the heavenly Overseer, he would make her accept her responsibility.

Well…only if he could find her first.

Rusty heaved a sigh to himself and turned completely around, too defeated to notice the fact that his jacket had come loose from the tree's hold on it. It dragged along the ground behind him, leaving a slight impression in the leaf mold, as he slowly started toward the edge of the clearing.

But, just before he set foot in the densely grown undergrowth again, he felt a small, delicate hand on his shoulder. It pressed down on his skin with a light pressure, enough to get his attention, but not enough to come across as threatening.

"Where do you think you're going?" He swallowed. If the hand on his shoulder hadn't been threatening, then the voice beside his ear definitely was. It was the same voice that had called out to him before, but this time it was soft, menacing. He couldn't find anything to say, let alone find his voice.

The lean fingers on his shoulder tightened their grip, causing him to lose circulation in part of his upper arm. A tingling shot through his hand. His heart started kicking against his ribcage, causing his breathing to become rapid and uneven, as fear set in.

What this person capable of, he didn't know. But he was willing to bet that he didn't want to find out, either. He started trying to pry his limb from her grasp, but just as quickly found out that she was not willing to let go. If anything, he could have sworn that her grip tightened even more. He was afraid to ask or tell her to let go, in case this just aggravated her more.

"I want answers." Wait…wasn't that his line? Wasn't he the one who was supposed to be interrogating her, not the other way around…? His mouth tilted off to one side – his role being taken from him was a little over frustrating. "And you're not leaving until you give them to me."

An abrupt tug on his shoulder caused him to jerk backwards, losing his balance and stumbling slightly as he tried to turn so he could see who dared kidnap an Angel. Even if he was scared out of his wits.

"You can't do this – you'll be punished…" His voice died in his throat as he turned fully, finally seeing the person behind him. Her appearance said anything but 'legend'. She was a slightly-shorter-than-normal height girl, her form slim and willowy – giving off more of an innocent vibe than a powerful one. Her hair cascaded in thick, flame-coloured waves over her slender shoulders, and her round lime-coloured eyes blinked at him from under a layered set of side bangs that covered half her face. Her face was slim and narrow, set with full lips and a button nose that was wrinkled slightly in distaste. Rusty had to force down a laugh at the thought that this little girl could hold that much power.

But yet, he reminded himself, the strength with which she had gripped his arm was no doubt only a small display of what forte she held inside her.

"You…you're the…the…" He trailed off, unsure on what exactly she w_as_, and simply settled for frowning at her, as she crossed her arms and cocked a hip. Which only made her appearance more laughable.

"Yes," she snapped in that same cold, intelligent voice that was so unfitting for her stature. "And I'm assuming you were sent by _him_ to convince me that I owe the Middleplane more than I think?" A slight start was the only sign of Rusty's shock at how easily she figured him out.

"Um…well, actually, yes." He cleared his throat slightly, scrambling to regain his composure. It was disgraceful to Guardian Angels everywhere for him to appear so scattered in front of such an important figure. No matter how small she was.

"You've wasted your time." The statement was plain and simple, so blunt that Rusty found himself silently agreeing with her. He had indeed wasted his time, spending this much effort only to find a stubborn girl with an attitude. "If He wants my help, He'll just have to come get it himself," she said matter-of-factly.

No response came from the Angel, as he simply stared at her, confounded that she could speak like that about Him so casually. Like He was a schoolyard kid and she was the bully, easily picking on Him every day. Rusty blinked slowly, and, much to his chagrin, when he opened his eyes again, she was gone.

"Dammit!" he cursed aloud, gritting his teeth in frustration as he whirled about again, making sure not to leave his back turned on one place for too long. _Where did she go?!_

His silent pleas were hopeless, he soon realized, as he found that the suffocating black smoke was rising up again, swallowing him in a dark miasma. As it reached his chest, true panic began to lance down his spine. He tried stumbling away from it, he tried batting it away, but all of his efforts were in vain.

It continued to rise, continued to press on either side of him, seemingly pushing air out of his lungs. He squeezed his sea blue orbs shut, and as he did his previous thoughts repeated over and over in his mind, like a broken record;

_It's all a trick…all a trick…_

* * *

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**~xoxo WinglessAngel**


	3. Ronan Withers

**Vocabulary:**

**Middleplane: Earth. The Mediator between Heaven and Hell, inhabited by humans, animals and the like.**

**Overworlds: The two Overworlds are Heaven and Hell, the two supernatural realms that hold all-powerful beings.**

**Underlings: The workers or servants for the Devil and God: Angels and Demons. Confined by the Bond to their realms.**

**Overseers: The head on charge of each supernatural realm. I.e., the Devil is the Overseer of Hell, God is the Overseer of Heaven. All Underlings are under their control.**

**The Sight: Gifted to very few in all history, the Sight is the ability to see and kill both Angels and Demons of all kinds.**

**Characters For This Chapter:**

**Naomi: 17 years**

**Ryel: 17 years**

**Ronan Withers: 37 years**

**Caroline Covenant: 35 years, Deceased**

**Damon Covenant: 37 years**

* * *

Ryel Covenant never had been close to his sister. So when she showed up on his doorstep in Duncan, British Columbia at around 9 in the evening, he couldn't help but automatically think that either someone died, or she was in serious trouble. She was almost exactly as he remembered, though now he could have sworn that she had grown at least an inch. And that was quite the feat for his twin sister.

Naomi stood with her arms crossed over her chest, and her vivid green eyes staring at Ryel with something near contempt. Like said before, they had never been close.

They had fought almost their entire childhood together, and it seemed like a gift from Heaven when they were finally old enough to move out by themselves. Ever since then, Ryel had completely lost contact with Naomi, but the rumors that traveled slowly through his hometown told him that she had lived nearly everywhere possible…or at least, close to it.

It seemed like a very unusual situation that she would be standing in front of him, looking as though she were ready to go on a rant.

"Hey…?" He wasn't even sure what to say; there could be a million reasons as to why she would be standing there on his doorstep, though only a few of them seemed valid to him. Naomi had a bit of a knack for getting herself into tough situations, but she had never turned to her brother for help before.

"Hey." Her tone was blunt and straightforward, as she pushed him out of the way and walked straight into his house – uninvited. He didn't say anything, simply sighed, as he knew that no matter what, Naomi's temper wouldn't have changed over the few years they hadn't seen each other.

Without saying anything, Ryel turned and followed her down the long hallway that lead to his lushly furnished living room, adorned with a stone fireplace and an antique Grandfather clock. Naomi was standing in the middle of the room, her bright green eyes fixated on the burning fireplace, as if entranced with the dancing blood and sun coloured flames. Her arms were crossed firmly over her chest, one hip cocked to the side and her lips pressed into a thin line.

"So…do you…need something?" The words hung awkwardly in the air between the two twin siblings, as Ryel waited almost impatiently for Naomi's answer.

After a few more heartbeats of uncomfortable silence, she answered in a small voice, her words tentative to leave her lips.

"Actually, yes…" This answer – Ryel had to admit – surprised him. He had never heard of an instance where his independent, self-righteous sister had needed help – not since they were little, anyway. But yet, at the same time, it brought a smug sense of pride to him; his sister, _Naomi Covenant_, needed help. It was an absolutely absurd idea.

But yet it was true.

And evidently she was completely aware of this fact. Her stance had grown a bit more rigid, her arms tensing and her weight shifting constantly from foot to foot. Her awkward stance, and the way her eyes remained glued on the leaping flames were evident clues that she was extremely awkward put in this position.

Ryel couldn't help but smile a bit, though he moved over to stand next to her in a way that she wouldn't see it. Even if Naomi did need help, that didn't mean she wouldn't punch him if he made fun of her.

"What is it you need help with?" He forced his voice to sound nonchalant, not wanting her to know how much he was enjoying her weakened state. Naomi had always been the stronger and more independent of the two twins – the favorite.

"Well…" She seemed even more hesitant to tell him what it was then just telling him she needed help in general. Which made sense…somewhat, Ryel thought. "Do you…remember when we were little and that…that man came to our door?" A frown etched onto Ryel's face as he thought back, to when he and Naomi had been small and still living at home. Back then they had not fought as often as when they grew into teens and became more impulsive – more on Naomi's case than Ryel's.

"You mean…that man that mom said she knew?" Ryel was slowly bringing up the memory of the tall, dark man that had showed up on their doorstep. Naomi had hid behind Ryel the entire time he was in the house – he scared her, she claimed. And Ryel had definitely believed her; this man had a thin smile and a deep, sharp voice that would be enough to scare anyone out of their wits.

He had asked to see their mom; whose face had blanched the instant Ryel told her who was at the door.

"A dark, scary man," he had said, his pale green eyes wide as he had looked at her. She had pursed her lips, her face white and chalky, and had hesitantly replied that she would be up in a moment. Ryel had run back to his sister, his eyes hardening as he looked at the man.

Once their mom had come up the stairs, her eyes glittering cold and hard, the man's smile had widened into a ghastly split through his narrow face. He had held his hand out and introduced himself as 'Ronan Withers'. Ryel's mother had only paled more as she heard his name. By now, Naomi had been huddled behind her twin brother, whimpering that she was scared, that she wanted the man to leave.

Clearly their mother agreed.

Caroline Covenant had never been weak. Maybe that's where Naomi got it from, or maybe they both came by it honestly. She had always protected her children, especially after their dad had walked out on them. It had happened when Ryel and Naomi had been at the tender age of six years old; too young to understand the deception that this was. Damon Covenant had hardly even known his children before he had decided that he couldn't handle the stress of raising two children with the wife he had married at the age of 20.

He had left, and maybe, Ryel thought, just maybe _that_ was why Naomi was so reclusive, so solitary. Maybe.

After the man had introduced himself, Caroline had been staring at him with glittering cold eyes, her lips pressed into a thin line. She had stiffly asked to speak to him somewhere else, away from her children. Though he had cast a cursory glance at Ryel and Naomi, he had hesitantly agreed, following her with his sharp black eyes still focused on the twins.

"Do you remember what he told mom?" Naomi's question jolted Ryel out of his reverie of memories. Whether she was going through the same nostalgia was unclear to him; her expression was impossible to read. As always.

"Kind of," Ryel said slowly, though in truth he knew exactly what Withers had said to their mother. He had told her that one of her children was destined for greatness – was destined to be the savior of the Middleplane, he called it. If Ryel was honest with himself – which he didn't do often – even he thought that whatever this 'prophecy' was, it was about Naomi. It was always Naomi.

But that didn't stop him from hoping, from wondering.

"He said that one of us was destined for greatness – that we were destined to save the 'Middleplane', whatever that is." Her voice was hard, her eyes still fixed on the fireplace, and for a few moments the only sound between the twins was the loud, symmetrical ticking of the Grandfather clock down the right hallway beside them.

"I remember." Ryel practically had to force the words out, and it was almost as though they hurt coming out. He didn't want to admit – had never wanted to admit – that Naomi had always had more potential than him. He could already sense where this was going.

Why else would Naomi come to him, for help, and mention this 'prophecy'?

"Well, I think I've figured it out." Her words sent a shiver of foreboding through Ryel. He had often heard those words run through his head, warning him that there was no way that this prophecy could possibly be about him. He would often lay awake at night, staring at his ceiling, pondering laboriously over Ronan Withers' words.

There were, of course, several other habitual activities that he tended to occupy himself with, on those unfortunate nights where his insomnia rendered him unable to sleep. One of the most common things he did to occupy those sleepless nights was he would spend – most of the time – around three hours sitting at the old oak desk in the corner of his room, his hand white-knuckled around his favorite carved pen. Ryel was a huge fan of poetry – and he tended to write his own, which had become rather popular with the ones he knew and were close to him.

"Do you know who Withers was talking about?" Ryel had no doubt in his mind that Naomi was going to say herself, and basing off of the flash of light that sparkled briefly in her eyes, she had no doubt either. "I think…" Ryel braced himself – he knew this shouldn't be such a big worry in his mind, but all the same… "He was talking about me." She seemed a bit awkward saying it, as if she knew how much this 'prophecy' meant to her twin brother, but she made to move to assure him or be humble in any way, shape or form.

The boy forced himself to nod, pushing his lean hands deep into his rough jeans pockets as he stared at the fire in his fireplace, his jaw set. He didn't say anything negative – the air between him and his sister was already thick enough with tension that he was practically choking on it.

Instead he forced his thoughts to veer away from choking the life out of Ronan Withers for putting false illusions into his mind, and made them a little bit more civil; more along the lines of simply maiming him while he sleeps. Though he didn't think he'd ever be able to.

Naomi was staring expectantly at him, as if waiting for him to say something – maybe congratulate her. Ryel opened his mouth, trying to force out some words, but they stuck in his throat as if by honey. Trying not to stutter like an idiot, he managed a small, non-committal,

"That's…good." Naomi shifted next to him. He wasn't sure what this meant, and he just as quickly figured that he didn't want to.

A foreign emotion was twisting his insides into knots, making him feel as though he were about to throw up. But he choked it down, scowling inwardly at the foul taste of bile in his throat. It did nothing to help his sickness; if anything it only made him want to dump his insides more.

It faintly occurred to him that his sister was talking, and he was completely ignoring the words coming out of her mouth. Blinking, he forced himself to clear his mind enough to hear the last little bit of her sentence;

"…don't you think?" Well, that's helpful. Ryel sighed and combed both of his hands through his dark auburn hair, closing his eyes. It was a nervous habit of his, something he happened to do whenever he got uncomfortable with a situation – well, either that or he would abruptly end the conversation.

"Sorry, Naomi. I'm really tired, and I would appreciate it if you left, so I could sleep." His words sounded and felt heavier on his tongue than he had intended them to be. And she clearly picked up on this. Her eyes were narrowed into slits as she turned her whole body to meet his eyes, which had been trained on her once he opened them again.

"I would say you're being rude, but that would be hypocritical." Ryel didn't even have time to react to those words before his sister was long gone, leaving only an echo of her spiteful tone and the slam of the door behind her. Clearly she still hadn't warmed to her brother, even though they should have been brought together by the revelation of this prophecy.

Ryel's eyes were closed even before his head hit the deep blue pillow that served as a headrest as he fell back on his futon. He relaxed, scrubbing his hand over his eyes and kicking his feet up onto the couch. He knew tonight would be another night spent sitting hunched over at his desk, his pale green eyes fixed on the white parchment paper as the ink-riddled pen in his hand flowed into word after word of his next poem. It never really took away his problem, but poetry was to him what alcohol was to those who drank whenever their emotions got the better of them.

It temporarily relieved his problem.

He had never had to worry much about Naomi; after moving out he had immediately pushed all thoughts relative to her to the back of his mind, but her returning only catapulted his world into chaos.

Ryel's body jerked slightly as he sat bolt upright, startled by the ring of the doorbell. Like a scene from a movie, the loud chime jarred something into place in his mind. Every night he had spent awake, a very certain, very specific emotion was what plagued his mind and rendered him unable to sleep. It was the same emotion he got whenever he thought of Naomi.

He let out a frustrated sigh as the doorbell rang again, and this time for a long, suspended note. He had no idea who this could be.

Ryel had never been a very social person – hence why he had bought this old Victorian Brownstone that was around seven miles from any near town or city. So, taking this into consideration, he shouldn't have many visitors, especially at this peculiar time of day.

It couldn't be Naomi, he thought as he walked to the door, she would have just walked right in. So who else could it be? There was really no one else he associated himself with. Heck, he didn't even associate himself with his sister. He just didn't have a choice when she came to visit.

By the time Ryel made it to the front door, he had already worn out what was left of the part of his brain that was willing to think. His hand hesitated on the doorknob as the reality of the situation clicked in his mind; someone was at his door. Someone that wasn't his sister. Ergo, someone that he most likely didn't know.

This was evidently cause for a slight bit of panic, but Ryel knew that especially now – after Naomi had thoroughly crushed his dreams – there was nothing left that he need be afraid of. He didn't know what was on the other side of his white-painted door, but he had a growing feeling that he wanted to know.

Making his decision, Ryel turned the doorknob as slowly as he dared and opened the door toward himself, though he kept his defences up – just in case.

Standing before him, tall and regal, with a thin, fine-boned form, was a man of what appeared to be around 30 years old. He had a head of scruffy black hair, a slim face and piercing black eyes. His thin lips were stretched into a ghastly smile, and his hand was clutching the handles of a black briefcase.

It took Ryel only a couple of moments to recognize him.

Ronan Withers.

* * *

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**~xoxo WinglessAngel**


	4. Motives

**Vocabulary:**

**Middleplane: Earth. The Mediator between Heaven and Hell, inhabited by humans, animals and the like.**

**Overworlds: The two Overworlds are Heaven and Hell, the two supernatural realms that hold all-powerful beings.**

**Underlings: The workers or servants for the Devil and God: Angels and Demons. Confined by the Bond to their realms.**

**Overseers: The head on charge of each supernatural realm. I.e., the Devil is the Overseer of Hell, God is the Overseer of Heaven. All Underlings are under their control.**

**The Sight: Gifted to very few in all history, the Sight is the ability to see and kill both Angels and Demons of all kinds.**

**Characters For This Chapter:**

**Guardian Angel Rusty: 19 years**

**Ryel: 17 years**

**Ronan Withers: 37 years**

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"Where am I?" Nothing but the empty echo of his voice came back to Rusty, no matter how loud or how often he called out.

He had tried, many times, to twist his wrists out of the bonds that held him against the cold stone wall at his back, but the rope was bound too tightly. The girl who had taken him to this dark room – which appeared to be several meters under the ground – was long gone, leaving neither trace nor hint of where she went.

He gritted his teeth, knowing that if there was any way of getting out of here, it lay with the Seer girl that he had been assigned to come speak to. Rusty had wasted most of time in the previous days trying to convince Him that this girl would not accept her destiny, regardless of how many people or how many times she was spoken to.

But He had already made up his mind, and was firmly set in the way that Rusty – of all the Angels and Underlings he could have chosen, _Rusty_ – could convince her that she needed to save the world. Rusty knew, from the moment he had set foot on the Middleplane, that this girl was far beyond the hope of reasoning. That she either thought that she couldn't save the Middleplane from the dark Overworld, or she just didn't want to.

The latter seemed more likely in his mind.

Far to Rusty's left, a horribly strained scraping noise grated through the dank room, jarring harshly into Rusty's consciousness. He had heard that noise only once before, and it had been accompanied by the presence of the girl.

When she had first come back to the room where she had left him, he had been able to take a moment and revel in the fact that it was this small, indistinct girl was the Seer that was supposed to save the Middleplane. But, having gotten only a glimpse at her true power, Rusty had no doubt that she really could achieve this great feat.

But the footsteps that were approaching him were not the same light ones that belonged to the girl. They were heavier, more irregular. Hurried.

A moment later, a boy Rusty had never seen before rounded the corner to his left, coming at high-speed toward the Guardian Angel. Despite not knowing who this boy was, it didn't take long for Rusty to figure that he was somehow related to the Seer girl – Covenant, He had called her.

They both had red hair – though this boy's was darker – and green eyes – though this boys were paler and lighter than the girls piercing orbs.

"Who are you?" It was in Rusty's natural nature to be suspicious of anyone – especially someone who was related to that devil Seer. The boy didn't answer right away – instead he set to work trying to untie Rusty's bound wrists and ankles. His hands slipped several times; her knots had been tight and very firm.

"My name is Ryel Covenant," the young boy said almost breathlessly, as he undid the bindings on the Underlings' ankles. This struck an odd nerve in Rusty's mind, considering that this boy was most likely the brother of the girl who had locked him up in here.

He was starting to believe the rumors that surrounded The Shade.

"You're her brother, aren't you?" Rusty's paranoia seemed to be taking a bit of a leave at that moment, which he was grateful for more than naught. He didn't need anything holding him back from bringing this boy back for Him.

"Yes, I am." Ryel looked confused as he straightened and blinked his large, pale eyes at the Angel. "Why? How do you know my sister?" Rusty rubbed his wrists, frowning at the odd youth. Why was he here to rescue – Rusty thought it was a rescue – the Guardian Angel if he didn't even know why he was locked in here?

"Your devil sister locked me in here after I met with her in The Shade," Rusty said, a small bit of a growl in his tone. It was clear by the glimmering in his eyes at the boy had plenty of questions for him, but he bit his tongue as Rusty continued. "I was meeting with her in The Shade – a forest just outside of a Canadian city – because I was assigned by the Overseer of Heaven to convince her of her duties." The youth continued to stare at him. It was clear he wasn't following.

Rusty sighed, and made a gesture with his hand toward the door from which the young boy had come. "Why are you here if you don't even know why _I'm _here?" he asked. The boy shifted a bit uncomfortably, but before he could even have the chance to answer, the loud, hoarse grating noise sounded again. It caused both of the males to jump, and look sharply over at the dark corridor that lead to the large, iron door.

Ryel's face was contorted in confusion and distress – clearly they were both thinking the same thing; that the Seer girl was making a rather unexpected appearance. And that, in Rusty's mind, caused less trouble for him than it did for the boy.

But it wasn't the girl's shadow that descended upon them a moment before the person itself appeared in the doorway. This was the shadow of a tall, thin man with a medium-sized briefcase in one hand.

A moment later, that exact figure appeared in the room, his ruffled black hair falling about his piercing black eyes. His skin was pale, almost ghost-like, and the only thing alive about him was those foreboding black eyes. And right at that moment they were staring into Rusty with a sort of paranoid amusement…or, at least, that's what it seemed like to his eye.

"Ronan!" The boy's voice was relieved, though why he would be happy to see someone like this was beyond Rusty's knowledge. Ronan turned his all-knowing gaze to the youth, and what could be perceived as a hint of a smile graced his thin lips.

"Ryel. Have you explained to our Angel friend here what is happening?" he asked, in a low-tenor voice that sent shivers down Rusty's spine.

"No…" Ryel shifted uncomfortably. "But he explained to me what happened to him. You never told me that it was Naomi who captured him!" Ronan's smile never left his face – if anything, it grew wider.

"My dear Ryel. That information was need-to-know. And, frankly, you didn't need to know." This obviously didn't settle well with Ryel, and he frowned deeply at the man.

But Ronan's attention was now directed away from him, and – rather unfortunately – was now on Rusty. Even though the Angel had no idea who this man was, he could already tell that he was no good…and not entirely human.

There was an odd energy coming off of the tall man, one that Rusty could've sworn he had felt before. But at the same time – mixed with said energy – another sort of élan coming off of him that reminded Rusty of someone…of someone he knew…

Of the Covenant girl.

It hit him like a rock to the stomach. This Ronan character had the energy of a Half-Breed on him, and at the same time…he was somehow connected to the Seer girl. This realization made him stop for a moment, holding his breath, hoping that the Ryel boy didn't know this. He must have been somehow related to the Seer – brother or cousin, maybe – and in order to work with Ronan he must have thought him innocent of any relations to the girl.

As all these thoughts had been racing through Rusty's head at high-speed, Ronan had been watching him, as if he could sense just what his thoughts had been – just how he had figured out the secret he had kept from the boy who had so naively agreed to help him.

"W-why did you help me?" Rusty managed to stammer out, his pale blue eyes round as he turned his gaze to Ryel now, hoping that when he was looking away from Ronan the other man wouldn't be able to 'look into his soul' has he had been before.

Ryel looked over at Ronan, and at that one simple glance Rusty knew what had happened. Ronan had gone to Ryel in hopes that he would help him rescue Rusty. He had been betting that the boy's jealousy of his more important sister would be enough to sway him in his favor.

But why would saving Rusty from that clinically insane Seer benefit him?

"I understand that you must be questioning our motives," Ronan began. Then his eyes flashed to Ryel. "Or, more accurately, my motives." He started pacing, back and forth in front of the Guardian Angel. "Well, I assure you that they are nothing that concerns you. At least, not much." This put Rusty slightly at ease, though he was a bit unnerved by the dangerous gleam in the man's eye. "My motives have something to do with someone very important to this upcoming legacy of the Middleplane, and their downfall." His eyes flashed to Ryel briefly, but the boy looked about as lost as a puppy in the middle of a forest.

Rusty's breath caught in his throat as he understood what Ronan meant. And it immediately put him in an extremely difficult situation.

He had to obey what his Overseer had told him to do, but at the same time he knew that he couldn't handle this dangerous man – if he was at all a man – by himself. He needed help.

Rusty had never been a stupid person(to a degree), and he was definitely clever enough to know that he needed to play it safe until he could get wind of Ronan Withers' plan to Him. Now, however, the Guardian Angel had time to take a pause and think about the odd power he had sensed coming off of the dark man in front of him.

As Rusty though more about it, the strange energy – not the one that reminded him of the Covenant girl, but the other one – seemed to be something like that of his own; of an Underling. But he seemed too devious, too mischievous to be an Angel.

And with that, he realized what imprint Ronan had stamped on him.

It was one of a Half-Demon.

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**Read and Review!**

**~xoxo WinglessAngel**


	5. The Overseer's Son

**Vocabulary:**

**Middleplane: Earth. The Mediator between Heaven and Hell, inhabited by humans, animals and the like.**

**Overworlds: The two Overworlds are Heaven and Hell, the two supernatural realms that hold all-powerful beings.**

**Underlings: The workers or servants for the Devil and God: Angels and Demons. Confined by the Bond to their realms.**

**Overseers: The head on charge of each supernatural realm. I.e., the Devil is the Overseer of Hell, God is the Overseer of Heaven. All Underlings are under their control.**

**The Sight: Gifted to very few in all history, the Sight is the ability to see and kill both Angels and Demons of all kinds.**

**Characters For This Chapter:**

**Mammon: Age Unknown**

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There are many widely known descriptions of what Hell looks like. A fiery, burning mess; a deep, glowing red crevice; or maybe even a simple torture chamber that changes for everyone who goes down there. But no matter what, it's always hot.

That much was true, though all those other stereotypes, as he liked to think of them, were far from what was real.

Hell was nothing but the worst nightmare, all around. Sure, it had fire, and a deep, dark crevice, but the whole point of Hell was to scare what life was left out of the poor souls that came down there. Hell had been specifically designed by its Overseer to exploit and use all of its residents' fears of death to make their endless torture all the more painful. Their worst thoughts of death played over and over again on continuous repeat.

There was one thing about Hell's Overseer that no one knew – he had a son. Only one son, to inherit his legacy after he passed away. which, as everyone knew, wouldn't happen for a good two thousand – if not more – years.

His son's name was Mammon. Mammon had lived in Hell all his life, and had grown more than accustomed to both the heat and the constant noise of the place. The one thing he never got tired of, like his father, was the perpetual stream of new souls that came in every day.

The one thing about both of the Overworlds was that everything in them was constant. It never stopped – the flow of new souls, the different events that threw everything off balance – it was always never-ending.

And that's the way Mammon wanted it to be. At least, until he was through with his plan, he wanted everyone to know that Hell would never end, that even if it's current Overseer died, there was another ready to replace him in a heartbeat.

Mammon's father was extremely well-known for all that he did. That always rubbed Mammon the wrong way – how his father got all the limelight and Mammon himself was forced to do his dirty work.

But he kept quiet. He never gave any hints nor let anyone know how he felt about this tyrannical situation. Because Mammon had a plan. A plan that he wouldn't let anyone – not even his all-controlling father – get in the way of.

The only person who knew of said plan was a very carefully selected Half-Breed with whom Mammon had always been particularly close with; someone he knew he could trust to help him execute his scheme.

The Half-Breed was to Mammon what Mammon was to his father. He did the dirty work and recruited all the lackeys that would most likely all be killed by the time he achieved his endgame.

Mammon had always had resentment in his heart toward his father, and he planned to keep it that way until the Demon Overseer was completely out of his way.

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**Little bit of a short chapter, introducing a new character who will become very important in the plot :)**

**Read and Review, my lovelies!**

**~xoxo WinglessAngel**


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